


Insomnia

by sickly _sweet (sketchy_and_unformed)



Category: CKY (Band)
Genre: Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Requited Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-19
Updated: 2005-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:00:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26958481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sketchy_and_unformed/pseuds/sickly%20_sweet
Summary: “Look, if you ever need to talk or anything, just tell me. I’m worried about you, dude.”He didn’t even blink, and with a sigh of resignation I stood and walked out of the room. At the doorway I cast a look back over my shoulder just as Deron lowered his head into his hands.Livejournal repost.
Relationships: Deron Miller/Jess Margera
Collections: Livejournal reposts: CKY/HIM





	Insomnia

The first night I only found him by accident. Something woke me and suddenly I had to go to the bathroom so bad I almost burst on the way. When I was done I was all set to head back to my bunk, but a faltering light from the back room caught my curiosity.  
  
I found Deron on the sofa, fully dressed compared to my t-shirt and boxer shorts combo, staring at the TV and holding a glass of something with ice cubes that clinked against the side every time he raised it to his lips, which was often. I ran a hand over my face sleepily and coughed so that my voice would come out right.  
  
“Dude…what time is it?”  
  
He shrugged, not looking away from the solitary illumination of the screen, its picture casting alternating colours over his skin. I screwed my eyes up and stifled a yawn.  
  
“What are you doing up?”  
  
“Insomnia,” he replied, eyes flickering orange, then white. I turned back to the TV, recognising the footage.  
  
“You’re watching ‘Black Christmas’ again? You must have seen it what, thirty times?”  
  
He only shrugged again, and after a moments hesitation I left him to it.  
  
The next night I somehow woke again, and this time after lying for a moment in silence I could hear the faint sound of a movie playing. I slid out of bed and padded along the corridor, swaying slightly with the movement of the bus. Sure enough Deron was in the same place he’d been the night before, only this time he was watching ‘Carrie’.  
  
I sat down beside him and he still didn’t acknowledge my presence directly, seemingly riveted by the movie. There was a notepad and a bottle of scotch shoved down the side of the sofa.  
  
“Still can’t sleep, huh?”  
  
There was no answer to that, but then, it was a pretty stupid question.  
  
“Do you know what causes it?”  
  
His voice when he spoke was slow and almost monotone.  
  
“If I knew that, then it probably wouldn’t keep happening.”  
  
Part of me wanted to stay and sit with him, but it was pretty obvious he’d rather be alone, so I left. I thought about it for a few minutes in bed before the jolting motion lulled me back to sleep.  
  
Maybe I should have left well enough alone, but the thing is, things weren’t well enough anymore. The next night, on stage, Deron forgot the first line of ‘Inhuman Creation Station’, which might not be that big of a deal, only we must have played it fifty times in the last three years, and I’ve only seen Deron forget a line to anything twice before, ever. He’s usually the biggest perfectionist I’ve ever met when it comes to that stuff.  
  
After the show he didn’t come out with us to sign autographs and stuff, which actually isn’t that unusual but I’ve never questioned it before. This time, though, I quickly made an excuse to a group of ten or so teenage boys and slipped back inside the venue to find him. Walking quickly through the maze of hallways that made up the backstage area, I almost ran straight into him, leaning against a wall and staring into nothing. I did a slight double take and took a step back.  
  
“Hey man…you alright?”  
  
He smiled but kept his eyes on the opposite wall, and I’d be lying if I said that his behaviour seemed normal to me. I was starting to get freaked out, a little.  
  
“Sure, why wouldn’t I be?”  
  
“You’ve just been kinda…spaced out? I dunno…sorry if I’m bothering you or anything.”  
  
He turned to me and looked me dead in the eye with all seriousness.  
  
“I’m fine, Jess. Don’t worry about it.”  
  
I nodded and turned around, walking slowly away and dragging my feet. Deron might be sort of introverted sometimes, but he doesn’t lie about things. This time, though, I felt like he was, and that shook me up a bit more.  
  
I knew he’d be up again that night. I didn’t sleep brilliantly myself, waking up every half hour or so. After a while I got up again and walked through to the TV room. This time I could have sworn he smiled as I reached the doorway, but I blinked and the expression was gone.  
  
“Hey,” I greeted him, sitting beside him again. His response was to take another swallow of whiskey from the nearly empty glass in his hand. The notebook I’d seen the night before lay across his lap, the top page covered with his hasty block capitals. I turned my head a little to try and read what he’d written when in one smooth, controlled movement he picked it up and flipped it over to a blank page. In that time, though, I realised that more than half of it was full of his writing.  
  
“So is this what you do every night? Watch horror movies and write lyrics?”  
  
Again he didn’t answer, keeping his attention on ‘Sleepaway Camp’. I shifted so that I was completely facing him and for a second his gaze fell to the worn carpet before returning to watch as a teenage boy was attacked by a swarm of bees.  
  
“Deron…you do know what’s causing this, don’t you?”  
  
He hesitated for a moment before nodding once; a quick but unmistakable inclination of the head. I kept my eyes on him but he didn’t offer anything else, so I tried again.  
  
“Want to talk about it?”  
  
“I don’t think you’d understand.”  
  
His voice was the same, almost devoid of emotion.  
  
“How long has it been since you slept properly?”  
  
The numerous bloodshot veins of his eyes were all the answer I really needed, and I could have kicked myself for not noticing before. It was obvious that my attempts were getting nowhere. I placed what I hoped was a comforting arm around Deron’s shoulders, feeling a muscle jump beneath my touch.  
  
“Look, if you ever need to talk or anything, just tell me. I’m worried about you, dude.”  
  
He didn’t even blink, and with a sigh of resignation I stood and walked out of the room. At the doorway I cast a look back over my shoulder just as Deron lowered his head into his hands.  
  
The fourth night was different. During the day things were getting worse; Deron was barely talking to me and he was sitting staring into space so much that it was getting creepy. His eyes looked almost hollow, red-rimmed, the skin around them darkening progressively. Chad kept trying to get him into conversations but they never lasted much more than three sentences. After the show he caught my arm as we left the stage and whispered “Dude, what the fuck is up with Deron?” I shrugged unhappily.  
  
“I wish I knew.”  
  
So that night when I got to the TV room, I walked in on a whirlwind of movement. Crumpled sheets of paper littered the floor and the sofa, a movie was playing but the sound was down, a CD playing softly instead. Deron knelt in the middle of the floor, rifling through sheets of paper frantically. He froze when I entered, eyes cast downwards.  
  
“Jess.”  
  
“Hey,” I ventured hesitantly. He crushed the heel of his hand to his forehead and closed his eyes.  
  
“You shouldn’t be here.”  
  
“Sorry. But Der…”  
  
He bit his lip, then continued sorting the paper, creating messy piles around himself.  
  
“Seriously. Go back to bed.”  
  
This time his voice was almost breaking with suppressed emotion, and I didn’t bother to stick around any longer. I thought I heard a choked sob as I slunk away, and I cursed myself for being so totally useless with things like this.  
  
But I couldn’t just give up. On stage Deron seemed like he was barely managing to mumble the standard between song words about how great the city and its fans were and how much fun we were having, leaving it to Chad and Matt to fill in the gaps in the show. If this went on for much longer the band would be well and truly fucked. But honestly, I could have dealt with that much easier than I was dealing with the sight of my best friend apparently falling apart right in front of me.  
  
So I got up at almost the same time again the next night. This time Deron was back to watching the TV, with an old Bill Hicks DVD playing quietly. I winced when I saw that he hadn’t even bothered with a glass for his scotch this time, lifting the bottle to his lips every few seconds.  
  
“Deron.”  
  
“Jess,” he replied with a cursory nod. I gestured with my hands helplessly.  
  
“What will it take to make this stop? I want to help you. I can’t…I hate to see you like this.”  
  
“So go back to bed.”  
  
I bit my lip. “You think I could do that? You’re my best fucking friend, and…”  
  
“Yeah. I know.”  
  
His voice came out harsher than he’d meant it to and he followed his words with a curse beneath his breath. I had to struggle to keep my voice at a whisper myself.  
  
“What the fuck is wrong? Would you please just tell me?”  
  
Slowly, he screwed the cap back onto the bottle of whiskey. Carefully he stood and walked around the couch, backed me against the wall. Methodically he wrapped one hand around a fistful of my t-shirt at the collar and pulled me down so that we were nose-to-nose. With his back to the television his eyes appeared black, and his lips curled into a snarl that was completely unrecognisable on him.  
  
“You wouldn’t understand.”  
  
His lips trembled until he pressed the knuckles of his free hand against his mouth and looked away, mumbling something. The whole situation, his whole manner was unnerving to the extreme, and I could feel sweat start to prickle at the back of my neck. After a minute he dropped his hand and turned back to me.  
  
“Trust me, you wouldn’t understand.”  
  
The scent of whiskey on his breath was strong and the tremors of his body passed through his grip on my clothes and into me. He licked his lips quickly and out of nowhere I raised a hand to his face, touching him softly with shaking fingers.  
  
“But I want to.”  
  
Then his mouth was pressed against mine and I swear it was the most predictable thing he could possibly have done right then, but I really wasn’t thinking straight at the time with his lips, teeth and oh God, his tongue was pushing against mine and for a second I almost blacked out. But that was all it lasted, a second, and then he was almost in tears, taking a step back away from me and letting go.  
  
“You wouldn’t understand.”  
  
That strained whisper cut through me like razor wire and I closed the distance between us again. He opened his mouth to protest but I silenced him with another kiss, softer and more controlled than the first, trying to tell him that fuck yeah, I understood. A low moan surged up from his throat and long fingers crept into my hair, tugging lightly. I traced his lips with the tip of my tongue before pulling away and leaning our foreheads together, eyes still closed.  
  
“You know, you could have told me.”  
  
Three seconds later was the first time I’d seen him smile in weeks, and it was fucking radiant.


End file.
